why don't you give me some love?
by lachrymoseorange
Summary: Captain Swan - surprise! No? Fine. Hook finds himself stuck with an infected blister, but luckily the Savior is on his side. Set sometime after the season 5 finale.


**Author's Note** : I find myself tortured by these ideas and all the ways I can make our beloved Captain suffer, and I'm currently recovering from my own infected blister, you see, so this entire thing is almost too accurate. I, too, have suffered this and am all too willing to put Killian through it as well. :) Please excuse any errors... I just got too excited to post this and I maybe kind of probably wasn't as thorough in my editing as I'd like to claim. Title taken from _Give Me Some Love_ by James Blunt.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **why don't you give me some love? [i'm so tired of never fixing the pain]**

He was startled awake by something, heart thundering heatedly in his ears, a vague clenching in his jaw, and then he was bolting up, the bedsheets pooling around his waist. Almost frantically he glanced around the room, searching for Emma brokenly before finally remembering she'd been coaxed down to the sheriff's station early that morning – something about a drunken driving sweep near the town line and its newly opened borders, though he knew who they were actually looking for.

He vaguely wondered if they'd catch Whale in the crosshairs or someone worse, since the infamous Mr. Hyde was still running amok, but soon dismissed the thought – a wily old fox such as Hyde, if he was smart, would have ensconced himself away into some deep, dark hole until it was time to take over the world. Or attempt to, in the least.

He supposed it was mighty fine then, that Emma and her father were on duty that day, if crazy megalomaniacs were on the run, but as he untangled himself from the bed, there was also a part of him that wished he'd woken up beside her. It had and always would be a privilege to even share this space with her, to be honored with the image of perfection that was a sleepy Emma Swan. Yellow braid knotted at her neck, fingers warm under his ribs, legs wound around his – there was hardly a thing he'd trade for those moments before she woke fully, a small smile gracing her lips and awarding him a nuzzle over the skin of his chest.

Just thinking about what he'd missed while dreaming through the dawn tugged the spring from his step and left him feeling somewhat empty. He needed to find a way to stop the hot pounding at his temples – and knew just what that would require.

* * *

The surprise bear claw and coffee did little to ease his fevered conscience – though her megawatt smile nearly made it worth it. He still felt off the entire day, a nervous fluttering in his veins that he couldn't identify for the life of him, and that made him anxious. It felt as though his blood was boiling underneath his skin, and his eyes burned with the intensity of it.

Reveling in Emma's presence was a balm all on its own, but as soon as she'd been called away from her break to deal with some skirmish or another, a deep-rooted exhaustion filled his limbs, one that he couldn't shake even as he made his way to the docks. He forced thoughts of her bright, eager smile from minutes earlier into his mind's purview in the hopes that it would take away the heavy feeling behind his eyes, but it was to no avail. Even the cool, clammy wind coming in with the wash of the tide did nothing to soothe his gritty eyes.

He remained there for a long couple of hours, watching the sea, chasing away every thought that entered his head, wandering around his ship now harbored at one of the ports. He'd entertained the notion of taking her out for a while, but as he'd begun to cast off, a fierce trembling made its way through his arms and he thought better of it, making to simply stand at the rails or helm instead. The ocean was calm, the skies smooth and blue and traipsing along with an everlasting infinity into the horizon, and for the first time since last night, he found his peace and basked in it.

* * *

Sometime during the night, he realized sleep had long since made up its mind and abandoned him. Tossing and turning, tossing and turning, every joint seemed to pulse angrily, and matters were not helped overmuch when he'd finally returned home from the docks and discovered a scribbled note from Emma: _Late night at the station, be back before dawn. Don't wait up. I love you. E._

As many long and lonely nights as he'd spent without her, he would've sworn this one had been the worst. There was an itching running along his spine, forcing an uneasiness to take hold in place of the tranquility of the evening aboard the Jolly Roger. The heat in his veins had quieted some, but now there was a flame being lit in the sole of his foot, and no amount of grinding his teeth together distracted him enough for sleep to claim him again.

He waited until he could stand it no longer and finally tore a shirt over his head and made for the living room. Flicking the fan on as high as it would operate, he curled up on the sofa and allowed a gentle, conscious, back-and-forth motion in his ankle to soothe the racing of his heart.

* * *

"Killian, hey. Wake up, tiger." Two fingers were carding through his hair, her gentle voice tripping him toward wakefulness. He mustered up enough strength to twitch an eye open against the tingle in his stomach and the mysterious burning of his foot to look at her and all of her beautiful glory. A half-sigh-half-groan escaped him as he turned his body toward her, but the movement was enough to set his gut roiling. He hummed, low and deep in his throat, and shut his eyes again, fighting the building, boiling nausea.

"Killian? You okay?"

If he dared open his mouth, he was afraid of what might happen, but he could hear the panic tingeing her tone and knew he needed to say _something._ "Sorry, love –" was all that came out before he was up and limping as quickly as he could on his screaming foot into the bathroom in the hallway, where he fell more than knelt beside the commode.

Luckily, the chilled porcelain he pressed his face into assuaged some of the pulsations in his abdomen before he could retch, and he held his breath, eyes clenching closed once more as relief poured through him. He heard her footsteps come in behind him, and he reached blindly for her, for his beloved Emma. She crouched beside him, pressing closer and stroking his back with gentle fingertips.

"Have you been feeling like this all day? Killian, I'm sorry, babe. I didn't realize –" But her sentence broke off when she must've seen him shaking his head against the lid of the toilet. It augured a loud rumble from his belly, and he squeezed her hand for something else to focus on.

"Not your fault, love. Felt delicate since this morning." He found he was able to speak in short, breathy, but coherent sentences now that the pain in his stomach was lessening.

"Think it's passed by now? Want to move back to the couch?" she asked quietly. Her light vanilla scent wafted over him, and he did feel marginally better, though he was still bathed in a cold sweat.

He nodded slowly, adjusted his legs from their awkward angles so he could stand. She rose first, helping him find his footing before easing him back to the family room and onto the soft cushions. Once settled, she ran a palm over his forehead. "Just a slight fever, but do you want a cold compress for your head anyway? Maybe that will help."

He could hear the nervous agitation she was trying to hide in her voice, so he urged his mouth into a tiny smile before he looked her in the eye and said, "Aye, Swan. That would be brilliant."

Her retreating footsteps were loud in the otherwise quiet house, and by the time she returned with a wet cloth, he was already on the cusp of sleep. He was hardly aware of his last conscious thought: wondering at how soft her hands were as they smoothed a warm blanket over his trembling form.

* * *

When morning finally took it upon himself to grace the earth with his presence, he felt as though nothing had ever happened. Indeed, he felt perfectly fine, save for the absolute agony pulsing in the heel of his right foot so that he could scarcely even walk. After further probing, he discovered the reason why.

The flesh encircling his heel was thick and aching and sore and hot, and when he pressed a tentative finger to one spot, he nearly howled in pain, his eyes watering miserably as he attempted to cradle his foot to his chest. The whole area was enflamed, and red lines snaked around his ankle.

Taking a few deep breaths that did very little to ease the lingering pain, he started looking for signs of Emma – perchance she could help him find a way to maneuver himself into the kitchen for coffee, or at least have some sort of miracle cure he could try. Magic. A coma. Opium. Mayhap he could ask for a tumbler of rum instead of a piece of raisin toast that morning because frankly, if he hadn't already lost a limb, he would have volunteered himself a willing candidate to just lop the thing off.

His light scoff at such an idea sent bolts of pain down his leg and through his toes, and he knew something was very wrong.

* * *

He hated ordering her through the house like some bar maid, hated asking for her help, hated his immobility. He hated to do it, but knew he had to because there wasn't an icicle's chance in hell that he was going to make it up the stairs without collapsing in a puddle of pain. So he hollered her name loudly enough that she would likely hear it even in slumber, and waited for the sound of footsteps on the ceiling above.

His Swan never disappointed.

When he caught sight of her face, he nearly crumpled into the cushions at the stark relief shining in her emerald eyes. "I'm so glad you're awake – you had me worried last night," she said with a smile as she made her way over to his slouched form. "I don't think I've heard you so quiet before."

"I didn't mean to cause any panic, love. I apologize."

She smiled again, touched his scruffy cheek. "Anyway, you beckoned, Captain? How may I service you today?" There was laughter in the sparkle of her irises, and he tried not to squirm when her eyes landed on the foot he had bent into his lap.

Her expression clouded over suddenly, and he knew the moment she saw the small red streaks running near his instep, the swollen flesh of his heel. "Well, that don't look good, babe. I think it's infected. Does it hurt?"

"Only when you touch it – ah! _Bloody hell_ , don't do that!" he almost sobbed, and the fact that he knew she meant no harm did not squelch the burning in the limb one bit.

"Sorry!"

He leaned weakly against the cushions again, void of any energy now that his throat was raw and his eyes were wet with tears. "'S'okay, Swan. Just... do you have some herb with medicinal properties? Something to help the pain?" He gritted his teeth and pulled his eyelids open to look at her.

The joyful smile returned to her face after a moment, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "As a matter of fact, I think I've got something far better than 'some medicinal herb,'" she said quickly, hopping off with newfound purpose to a cabinet in the kitchen.

"Whale gave me this when I burned myself at that barbecue, remember that? I think it was an antibiotic..." Her voice trailed off as she rummaged through the containers, seeming to find whatever she was looking for after several seconds while he waited patiently in his agony. On her way back to him, she added almost absentmindedly, "Guess it's a good thing we always let him off the public intoxication charges with a warning." Emma waggled the silver tube in front of his nose before uncapping it and smearing a cloudy stripe of the ointment on her finger.

"Swan," he warned, recoiling slightly but carefully enough not to jostle his wounded heel. "I don't know about this..."

"Oh, hush, you big baby. It'll only hurt for a second."

It was the longest 'second' of his life. He knew it to be true because he'd lived through quite a lot of them. In the beginning, he'd tried counting each one as they ticked by, her finger almost cool against the heat of the wound as she rubbed the cursed goo into his skin, but nothing could be done to staunch the flow of pain. He was shaking nauseously with the agony of it all.

By the time she was finished, he had to reach up and wipe the wetness off his eyelashes, gasping in a harsh, ragged breath.

Emma, all gentle and loving once more, took pity on him and disappeared for a shake only to return with a small glass of amber liquid and a kiss ready to be placed on his lips. Obviously grateful for such a small bounty, he tossed the drink back in a single swallow and reached for her, tugging her close into his side.

"How's it feeling now?" she asked huskily, kissing the underside of his jaw.

"Like a bloody madwoman spent three bloody centuries debriding it."

Her breathy laugh was warm against his ear, and he shivered, a new sensation taking him over. "I guess you would know, wouldn't you?"

He couldn't find a response to that, but suddenly he didn't care.

Just as she'd always put him back together, he found that this case had been no different. His foot was, in fact, feeling _far_ better – though he would never admit it – but then her lips were on his and there had never been any hurt to begin with.


End file.
